


MasterChef

by ironwoodsfairy



Series: I'll See You On The Other Side [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Incompetent Chefs, Roomates, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironwoodsfairy/pseuds/ironwoodsfairy
Summary: He’d already boiled the pot over entirely once tonight, and now she’d gone and ruined the second. At this rate, it would be another night of takeout. Not that she minded, per se, considering how much he liked wine with his takeout, and sex with his wine.





	MasterChef

“Jesus, Clarke, that’s the sugar, not the salt!”

“Dammit, Bellamy! Then why’d you put it there and not in the cabinet?”

“Because it’s in the  _ other _ corner with the  _ other _ traditional baking supplies!”

Clarke’s hands slammed down on the counter, her eyes wide in anger and tinted with shame. 

Bellamy just rolled his eyes and dumped the pot of sugared water into the sink. “Look, I know I can’t cook, and you can’t cook, but we can’t keep wasting money, okay? We have to make this work. It’s just some goddamn spaghetti.”

Clarke folded her arms, chest heaving. Their inability to cook was an annoyance, but this was just getting ridiculous. She knew she needed to learn, but she’d still hoped her new roommate would be able to cook, to give her a little instruction, to have any more inkling of sense in the kitchen than she did. 

He’d already boiled the pot over entirely once tonight, and now she’d gone and ruined the second. At this rate, it would be another night of takeout. Not that she minded, per se, considering how much he liked wine with his takeout, and sex with his wine.

“Okay, focus,” he said, standing in front of the stove with a fresh pot of water. Whether his encouragement was for himself or for her, she didn’t know.

“Can you keep breaking up the sausage? I don’t think I can take my eyes off the pot, or else some other stupid shit is going to happen.”

She huffed. “A watched pot never boils, dumbass.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she stood beside him, not wanting to entirely miss the twitch of his lips she knew she’d find there. 

Their first venture into making food at home together had been somewhat of a success; sandwiches were safe, easy, and generally cold (they won’t experiment with the toaster oven yet). Little risk, little reward. Pasta, on the other hand, required more effort. And clearly much more skill.

“Mash, Clarke, mash,” Bellamy said, eyeing her pan of browning sausage. “And maybe turn down the heat so it doesn’t burn while we wait for yet another pot of water to boil.”

“ _ And maybe turn down the heat so it doesn’t burn _ ,” she mocked, hand on her angled hip as she got to mashing. 

“Don’t do that.”

Her eyes snapped to his profile, the dip in his voice catching her attention. “Don’t do what?”

He kept his eyes on the water. “Don’t do that thing with your hip, please.”

Her brow furrowed for a moment, before realizing what he’d said. “What, this?” She arched her back, pushing her hips to the side and her chest forward, hand on her waist to accentuate the curve. 

“Yes, that.”

She watched his posture stiffen with the difficulty of maintaining his composure. 

“Come on, Bell, how much do you really want this pasta?” She reached out a hand and touched it to his arm, just resting it there, before inching closer to his side. 

He snorted, back still ramrod straight. “A lot, honestly. I’m tired of spending so much money. Four weeks straight of takeout, I just want a warm home cooked meal.”

“Are you sure you want to eat pasta though?” Her hand slipped down his arm to his hip, tugging on his belt loop.

She watched his eyes close, heard his breath catch, and took another step closer. “You’re not watching that water, mister,” she said, lips nearing his ear as she breathed on his neck.

“Clarke,” he said, voice thick with desire and laced with caution. 

She reached her hand to the front of him, just dipping below the waistband of his jeans. “Come on, Bell,” her voice rasped again as she nipped at his ear. 

He inhaled sharply, eyes flying open as he removed her hand and pushed passed her. She spun, eyes catching on the blackened, smoking sausage. He switched off the burner and moved the pan before sighing heavily, reaching forward to turn off the burner for the pot of water. 

Clarke watched as he gripped the counter and dropped his head, shoulders shaking with incredulous laughter. 

“Takeout?” she asked, tilting her head to look at the ceiling.

“Mmhm,” he hummed.

“Wine?”

He raised his head to look at her, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I could go for some wine. And some dessert.”

She smirked, stepping towards him as he stood upright, extending his hand to her. He settled his hand on her waist, leaning her into the counter behind her, crowding into her space, their ruined dinner forgotten. 

She smiled, wrapping an arm around his neck as he leaned down, nearer and nearer still as his breath warmed her lips before his hand shot out behind her and snatched up his keys, eyes alight with mirth as he took her hand and led her to the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “I can’t cook and you can’t cook. Together, we’ll make a masterful meal!” - https://tiptoe39.tumblr.com/post/153954438876/hey-tippy-first-of-all-i-love-your-blog-and-you


End file.
